The Centurion's Daughter
by JenniferJF
Summary: She isn't just River Song or Melody Pond. She's also the Centurion's daughter.
1. Home

_A/N: Spoilers through The Wedding of River Song_

* * *

><p>Amy woke, for the first time in as long as she could remember, with an overwhelming sense of well-being. The shadow of a headache lingering from the night before barely registered against it.<p>

Then she remembered: River was home. She'd slept in the next room. And this time, finally, her daughter was _really_ home. There was nowhere else she was supposed to be. Or had to run off to.

And no one would take her away.

Even while part of her mind was wondering how long River might stay, another part was remembering that this wasn't, really, completely true.

Because the Doctor was alive. Out there, somewhere, traveling through time and space. A mad man and his box. And even though there was no way of knowing how long it might be until she'd see him again, still...

Alive.

Amy smiled.

And that's when the smell of bacon and eggs and... thank goodness, coffee... hit her senses.

Throwing back the covers carefully so as not to wake Rory still asleep next to her, Amy got out of bed. Slipping on her robe and slippers, she went in search of breakfast.

She found River, still in her own nightgown, seated at the kitchen table sipping a mug of coffee. And standing behind her at the stove, dressed in the loudest pair of blue and red plaid flannel pajamas imaginable, brandishing a spatula in one hand and a pot holder in the other...

"Hi, Mother. I'm home!"

She barely noticed the look River shot him, or her, "I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to say that." She was too busy rushing forward.

But she clearly heard what he whispered against her neck as his arms closed around her. "Gotcha."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They sat together at the garden table, heads bent together in intense conversation. His dark brown hair and bright green dressing gown contrasted sharply with the bright red and soft pink of hers.

She smiled as she watched them through the glass. She couldn't imagine a more perfectly matched mismatched pair.

"I keep thinking I ought to be jealous," her father observed as he stepped up to the window next to her. "But somehow, I just can't manage it anymore."

River took another sip of her coffee before replying. "I've never been able. Too much a part of who I am." She chuckled. "Besides, if I were to be jealous of every woman who shared the TARDIS with him..."

After a minute, he spoke again, "Can I ask you a question?"

She smiled without taking her eyes of the pair outside. "Of course. You never need to ask."

"I... It's just..."

She turned to look at him. "Yes?"

He licked his lip once, nervously, before looking her straight in the eye and asking, "How long?"

She turned away quickly, back out the window. Afraid of what he might see in her eyes. Unsure of how much to tell him. "Long enough."

"How long, River?" he repeated gently, and she could feel the concern radiating off him like a wave.

She waiting for a moment before answering, not wanting to tell him the truth but fully aware that she couldn't lie. He was Rory. Her father. He wasn't about to let her get away with it this time. And this time, she was finding she really didn't want him to. "You're still old enough to be my father... your memories, at least... if that's what you're worried about," she finally said.

"River..."

She narrowed her eyes to keep them from watering. "But _he_," she continued, nodding towards the man outside and trying to smile through the tears blurring her vision, "Isn't exactly robbing the cradle anymore. Not _quite_."

"Oh... River," he repeated. And at the gentleness of his tone... the desperately needed compassion and understanding... the tears finally began to fall.

"The funny thing about consecutive life sentences," she explained after a minute, her voice only a bit shaky, "Is figuring out what to do when the prisoner fails to die."

This time, he didn't even try to speak. His hand touched her arm. Softly. In silent invitation. And, turning, she stepped into his embrace.

It was only later that she'd finally fully realized...

How desperately he'd needed her, too.


	2. Tangle

Amy was finishing the last of the washing up, standing before a sink filled with tepid water which probably should have been replaced with fresh several dishes ago. The Doctor stood nearby at the counter, adding milk and sugar to two fresh mugs of tea. Then, suddenly pivoting towards Amy, he neatly flipped his used spoon up and over her shoulder and into the sink. Water splashed across her blouse.

She turned on him. "Hey!" Only her righteous indignation dissolved in the face of his laughter and, laughing now herself, she continued, "Very funny."

He nodded. "Yes. It was."

Amy stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to her work.

Still smiling, the Doctor picked up the mugs and crossed to the kitchen table where River sat, several small stacks of paper neatly arranged before her. He set one of the mugs down in front of her and then, lifting her hair briefly, gently kissed the nape of her neck. "You two are incorrigible," River observed as he pulled up a chair next to her.

He chuckled. "Yup." Then, indicating the paper in her hand, he asked, "That one any good?"

She shook her head, "No," and put the paper on top of one of the piles. "I need to find a University more interested in actual field research than academic review." She paused, smiling teasingly at him before continuing, "Not that academic review doesn't have it's _place_..."

"Idle gossip being no replacement for actual new experiences?" he finished for her, his own eyes dancing with amusement though he kept his expression straight.

"Yes. _Exactly_." Her eyes caught and held his, something deep and unspoken passing between them. Then the moment passed and River asked, patting one of the piles in front of her, "Now, are you going to help me find a job, or what?"

And that was when, from where he stood watch in the kitchen doorway, Rory suddenly realized the talk he'd been working up the nerve to have with the Doctor since discovering the man was still alive... That talk which, despite their difference in age – at least real physical age – he'd had a vague notion was his duty as River's father to have with the man anyway...

Was almost certainly already completely unnecessary.

Well...

Maybe not _completely_ unnecessary.

Because, watching his family, Rory had the strongest feeling that _someone_ needed to be giving that speech to _somebody_. He just had no clear idea exactly who either of those two people should be.


	3. Because Rory Will Always Be Rory

The date had sat there, like a black hole in her future, drawing her inexorably towards it, for a very long time. It had started out simply as sort of a curiosity, something noted but not really taken too seriously: "Oh, look what the next decade is." Then it had been only a few years away. But, still, those were years she could spend not thinking about it at all. Or, rather, years she could spend _mostly_ not thinking about it.

But then it had been the year. And then the month. And she was reminded of the day every time she looked at a calendar or wrote in her diary.

It became impossible to ignore.

She couldn't discuss it with the Doctor, either. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of the date approaching her. Neither his younger self traveling backwards to that cornfield in Leadworth nor the Doctor skipping forward with her like a pebble across water had ever once mentioned it. And as confused as their time streams were, how could he be expected to notice one date? And even if he did, why would he even think it mattered to her now?

_She _wasn't even sure why it mattered.

Except that it did.

A sense of dread, a strange foreboding she couldn't have described even if she'd had anyone to explain it to, came over her whenever she thought of it. And that morning, waking up on the TARDIS and knowing that, finally, today was the day...

It surprised her to roll over and find him there, watching her with a smile playing across his face, exactly as always. She was surprised again when, a short time later, he dropped her back in Stormcage and her cell looked just as it had when she'd left it. Later still, the guard, passing on his rounds, wished her a good morning exactly like he had every other morning for years.

Nothing had changed. The world hadn't splintered around her.

Of course.

Except it had.

Because, right then, that very day, far, far away on an asteroid called Demon's Run, her mother was going into labor. And in a very few short hours, she herself would be born into the arms of a woman who would see her not as the newborn she was, nor as the woman she could become, but as a weapon she could, and would, twist into being. Shattering four lives and, quite nearly, the universe itself, in the process.

She could feel the knowledge of it crawling through her like a living thing, screaming for her to act. To stop it. To save her mother and the infant she had been, to bend time itself in order to prevent all the pain and suffering she knew would follow.

Only she couldn't.

Even if the paradox wouldn't have torn apart the fabric of the universe, she wouldn't. Because somehow, despite it all... _because_ of it all... she had him.

But that didn't make it easy to sit there quietly in her cell and do nothing while, out there, her life and the lives of the people she loved were being ripped to shreds.

Until the mail came. And while she didn't get mail as a general rule, when she did, it was always from him. This time was no exception. Ripping the envelope open, she smiled as she pulled out the card inside. It's yellow cover wished her a "Happy Birthday" in large red letters. But her smile grew still wider as she read the message he'd scrawled inside:

"Pick you up, 3:30pm. Dress warmly. And for 1814. Bring skates if you have any. If not, we'll fix that. - Me."

And while she could tell by the way he'd signed that it wasn't _her _Doctor – which she'd already suspected or he'd have just given her the card that morning – still, he had remembered. At least once. And maybe that meant he understood, too.

At least a little.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He careened across the ice, all knees and elbows as he crashed against her. She grabbed onto him, offering support as he regained his balance. When he finally stood next to her, still shaky on his skates, but at least no longer moving in three or more directions at once, she asked, "Still sure this was a good idea, sweetie?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. I'll have it in a minute. Muscle memory and all that. The body never forge..." His final word cut off as his left skate slid right just as his right slipped backwards. Her quick reflexes in grabbing his elbow was all that kept him from sprawling face forward onto the ice.

Again.

She laughed as she helped him to right himself. "If you say so."

"I do," he said. Then, kicking off and away from her, his eyes sparkling as brightly as the ice surrounding them, he did a perfect full spin on the ice before coming to a sharp stop half a meter away from her. A grin split across his face as, holding out his hand, he asked, "May I have this dance?"

She shook her head in disbelief. Maybe one day he'd lose the power to render her speechless, but she rather hoped he wouldn't.

His grin slashed sideways. "Told ya I could skate."

"It's not the skating that's worrying me now," she said, laughing as she took his hand and let him pull her into his arms. "Sweetie, I've _seen_ you dance."

"I promise I'll be good. Cross my hearts. Besides," he began, spinning her around against him so she was looking back the way she'd come, "Look who I've got to sing for us."

She wasn't quite sure she could believe what her eyes were seeing. "Is that...?"

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her back. "Yup."

"Isn't that breaking at least three laws of time?"

He laughed again. "Yup. But it is a special occasion."

She twisted back around to face him. Stevie Wonder began to sing behind her. Reaching up, she gently tucked his forelock back behind his ear, stroking his temple as she did so. "Thank you."

The laughter died on his face, replaced with a look of such intensity she _felt _it. And she knew he'd understood. Her gratitude wasn't for Stevie Wonder or the broken laws of time but for his having chosen to celebrate at all. His gaze held hers for a minute, and she couldn't imagine he'd ever thought – would think - she needed to hear the words. Then a smile broke across his face; he was five years old again. The moment was gone. Clasping her in his arms, he danced her across the ice.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She stood at the bars for long moments after her father had left, staring after him down the shadowed corridor. He had been so... _Rory_. Forever unwilling and unable to ignore anyone injured or in pain. Even if what was hurting was beyond his ability to repair. He cared so acutely about everything and everyone. But more than anyone else in the universe, he loved her mother.

She'd heard it in his tone when he'd told her, "They've taken Amy." The despair and the determination. The willingness to tear worlds apart to get to her. To save her. The fear that, even then, nothing he could do would be enough. That he would still lose her.

River understood that only too well.

But what she'd never understood, not really, not until that very moment listening to him, was how that love included her. When he'd added, "And our baby," she'd felt it then, too. That same despair. That same determination. That same fear. And denying that love - refusing him help without offering real explanation - had been more difficult that she could ever have imagined. Especially when she'd seen the shock of it in his eyes, the pain of her betrayal wash across his features as though he'd been hit. As though she had hit him.

So it had been almost a physical relief when he'd left, turning away from her in anger and confusion. Only she knew that, hidden around the corridor, he must have returned to the TARDIS which had brought him. And to the Doctor who had sent him. And she was certain the betrayal would – already had – hurt him no less than it had her father.

A sudden change in the atmosphere behind her, a shift in the pressure or the temperature or _something_, cut through her thoughts. She was no longer alone. Turning from the bars, she saw the thin vertical line of light hanging in the air of her cell. She stepped forward, pushed the TARDIS doors open the rest of the way, and went inside. They'd dematerialized again as soon as she'd closed the doors behind herself.

He was standing at the top of the stairs leading up to the console, leaning back against the railing. He'd traded in his customary tweed for his black evening jacket, complete with top hat.

As she stepped up to join him, he smiled gently. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded and tried to return his smile. "Yeah. I will be."

He tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes and said, simply, in a voice so quiet she had to strain to hear, "I'm _so_ sorry, River." His thumb caressed her cheek. Softly. Invitingly.

Her facade broke. She couldn't bear to keep it up longer. Suddenly, unbelievably tired, she stepped into his waiting arms. Lowering her head to his shoulder, she rested against him. She stood there, soaking in his strength, for several long, long minutes. Then, breaking the silence, she spoke against his neck, "I do know why you sent him, love. And why you didn't warn me later."

She felt him nod. "I know. Still..." His voice trailed off; his arms tightened around her.

Lifting her head to look at him, she observed with a smile, teasing, "You do have guilt down to a science, dear, don't you?"

He chuckled and managed to look at least a bit embarrassed. "Well... yes."

"Not that I'm complaining, you understand. The Frost Fair was lovely. And your skating..."

"Atrocious?" he asked, releasing her to rock back on his heels proudly.

Now it was her turn to chuckle. "Surprising," she corrected.

He laughed. "Aren't I always?"

"Though," she continued, "I'm still not quite sure you were being fair to Father. He looked awfully – "

"Confused?"

"Hurt," she corrected again.

"Ah..."

"So maybe you should be apologizing to him."

"Do you think he'd like a dance?" the Doctor joked, stepping away from her and toward the TARDIS controls.

"I'm trying to be serious."

He reached out and absentmindedly twisted a knob on the console before glancing back up at her. "You know... I wouldn't worry about Rory if I were you," he observed.

"Why not?"

"Because your father isn't _actually_ as stupid as he looks."

She laughed despite herself. "Be serious."

"You know what I mean. But think about it for a minute, dearest... What _else_ did he see?'"

She did think about it. Remembering. And then, in a sudden flash of insight, River understood. It wasn't the second half of her conversation with her father that was important, but the first. Her, returning to prison after a day with the Doctor, still almost literally walking on air. Her _happy_. Despite everything.

The Doctor, continuing to fiddle with console controls she knew perfectly well did not need to be adjusted, went on, in a tone far too casual, "Because, you know, he's _Rory_. And he'd want to know... He'd _need _to know. And it's not like I could have sat him down and explained it. Even if I'd had the time. Even if he'd been completely _him_." He chuckled, though she knew him well enough to recognize it as forced. "Which he wasn't. And, under the circumstances, I'm not sure even I could have gotten him to believe it if I had..." His voice trailed off as he became engrossed in the readout on the overhead monitor, slapping the side as though certain that would fix the problem.

She smiled as she watched his pointless activity at the controls. Because even the man who'd tied himself to her on that pyramid that never was hadn't yet dared to hope he could ever make her truly happy. Hadn't yet really seen and believed what had always been right before his eyes. And he could certainly never have promised it to Rory. Even Rule Number One had its limits.

But this man... In order to recognize what he'd unwittingly shown to her father, he must have finally seen it for himself. Realized the truth. So she let him get away with the evasion. It was, after all, as close to an admission he'd been wrong as she was ever likely to get. After a minute she observed, intentionally changing the subject, "You're a bit overdressed for a night in the box, though, aren't you?"

He straightened up from the console and turned back to her. "It's a special occasion," he announced, adjusting his lapels.

"We've already done that," she reminded him.

"That," he declared, poking her on the nose, "Was _ages_ ago."

"Or an hour."

He laughed. "Or an hour," he agreed. "Still. Not _now. _Now is still a special occasion."

"So, where are we going?" she asked, reaching for the controls herself.

"Nowhere."

She looked over her shoulder at him, letting her gaze take in his entire outfit by way of making a point. "And now we're back to overdressed."

He preened under her scrutiny. "And I already told you, it's a special occasion." Then, carefully rolling the syllables out into separate words, he continued, "Your birth day."

"Which still doesn't explain the fancy dress."

"Yes it does."

"What's it for, then?"

He carefully adjusted his bow tie before, looking up at her from under his brows, his green eyes grown so dark they seemed to be nearly black, his gaze so intense he seemed to see right through her... and he knew perfectly well she had absolutely no defense against _that_ look... he finally answered, "Wrapping paper."

A long time later, curled up in bed next to him, half asleep and wholly satisfied, she observed with a chuckle, "You know... though... I _was_ sort of hoping for a Ferrari."

He handed her the keys.


	4. Catching Up

Rory drifted up from sleep, awakened by the low grinding whine coming from the next bedroom. Amy rolled over, curling against him. "He _really_ needs to remember those brakes," she mumbled into his shoulder. Within a minute, her breathing had returned to the slow rhythms of sleep and he tried to follow after her. They'd said their goodbyes the night before; his early morning departure came as no surprise.

Finally, though, Rory gave up trying to sleep. He'd been working the early shifts all week and seven in the morning seemed quite late. His stomach growled. Slipping out of bed, he went in search of food.

River was sitting in the kitchen when he got there, a newspaper spread out on the table before her. Her hair was still a wild tangle about her face and she'd simply thrown a pink fuzzy robe on over her pajamas. He paused in the doorway, suddenly feeling like an intruder in his own home.

She must have heard him, though, because, looking up from her paper, she said, "Good morning, Dad."

"Hey," he replied. "Uhm, sorry to disturb you. I could...you know..." He jerked his thumb back the way he'd come.

She smiled. "It's your kitchen," she pointed out. Then, holding up the mug in her hand, she offered, "I made coffee. Pull up a chair?"

He nodded and poured himself a cup. Rejoining her at the table, he sat down and indicated the paper in front of her. "_The __Leadworth __Chronicle_?" he asked. "That's gotta seem like small stuff. By comparison."

River laughed and smoothed a hand over the paper in front of her. "You'd be surprised," she said after a minute. "Births. Deaths. Marriages..." She pointed to one of the articles. "Mr. Darrin's prize winning sheep... . A lot more interesting than you might think."

He started to laugh, but the sound died on his lips. There was something about the way she looked down at the paper. Like she wasn't quite seeing it at all. "You okay?" he asked instead.

She looked up at him and smiled. And while it was small, it was _real_. "Yeah," she said, nodding. "I am."

"When will you see him again?" he asked before he'd thought better of it.

She glanced out the window, almost as if she expected to see the blue box landing in the garden. "Soon," she answered after a minute. "He can never stay anywhere for long... might start too many rumors..." Then, she turned back to him, and her face was lit with a smile which left no doubt as to how she really felt. "But, you know him, Father...he _always _comes back."


	5. Just Perfect

He hadn't really had much of a chance to look at her – just_ look_ at her. Now, though, he could watch unobserved as she slept, drinking in each feature: the curve of her chin, the soft whisper of her breath through slightly parted lips, long lashes fanned across her cheeks, and the pink shell of her ears. Each feature absolutely perfect. Completely familiar yet suddenly new in a way he couldn't have begun to explain.

His daughter.

It was nearly impossible to believe she was really _theirs_. That somehow, he and Amy were responsible for _this_. This miracle. Because despite knowing now that she had been...but he still couldn't really bring himself to imagine it enough to think about it without feeling the urge to reach for his sword.

No.

Melody...Mels...River. It didn't matter. The most important part of who she was was theirs. Always had been and always would be.

He knew that, now, too.

River rolled over restlessly in her sleep, her mass of curls tangling across the pillow as she moved. Quietly, so as not to disturb her further, Rory stepped from the room, closing the door behind him... And crashed into Amy who had walked up while he'd stood in the doorway.

"Sorry."

Amy smiled, nodding towards the door he had just stepped out of. "Can't believe she's finally here, either, can you?"

He shook his head. "No. Just had to check to make sure she was really still there."

She laughed softly. "Yeah. I know. Me too." They took a few steps away from her door before continuing their conversation. "You know, when we first realized we'd never see Melo – our baby again – I was...Well, heartbroken doesn't seem to quite do it. But now, having her here...while I'll never get my baby back..." She glanced toward the door, again her smile growing softer than he could ever recall seeing it. "I'm not sure I'd trade _her_ for anything, either. If you see what I mean?"

He smiled and nodded, feeling almost... relieved?...that he wasn't alone in that. "Yeah. I do. Now, we should probably be turning in ourselves."

Amy smiled. "I'll be there in a minute, okay. I just need to..." She gestured towards River's door.

"Sure, take your time," he said, and started down the hall. Behind him, he could hear Amy softly turning the knob and opening the door.

"What the -" she began, but was cut off by an all too familiar male voice.

"Pond!"

He turned back just as Amy was slamming the door shut. And, as it turned out, she _could_ blush. "You okay?" he asked, trying to suppress his smile and wondering why he wasn't more upset by the idea of a man in his daughter's bedroom. Even _that _man.

Amy nodded wordlessly. Brushing quickly past him, she sped down the hall back to their room.

By the next morning, the Doctor was gone as if he'd never been there except for the new lock on the inside of their guest bedroom door. Which, under the circumstances, Rory had to admit was a pretty good idea.


End file.
